


Forduary 2019 Week 4 - Family

by redwoodroots



Series: Forduary 2019 [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Forduary 2019, Forduary 2019 Week 4, Forduary 2019 Week 4 Family, ford is emotionally hurting and needs comfort, stan and ma save the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: Filbrick is suffering from jerk-itis.  Ford is just plain suffering.  SO MA SWOOPS IN TO SAVE THE DAY!!





	Forduary 2019 Week 4 - Family

**Author's Note:**

> This year's Forduary works are linked like the chapters in a book! In the previous chapter, Filbrick got rid of all of Ford's science books to try and make him stop inventing. Diagnosis: _MAJOR JERK-ITIS_. Good thing our science owl is not alone.
> 
> Final Forduary fic!! LET'S DO THIS PEOPLE!!!!

There was a knock at the door. Ford stayed at his desk. That's where he'd been all morning after they came home. Stan had left the room and Ford had locked it behind him, along with a little extra reinforcement. He didn't want to see or talk to anyone. Not Ma, not even Stan, and especially not his father.

The knock came again.

“Ford, sweetie.”

“I'm not hungry, Ma.”

“Good, 'cuz I didn't make anything anyway. Open the door.”

“I'm busy.”

“What a coincidence! I'm pretty busy, myself. In fact, I'm just taking a break from painting the Stan O' War's name in cherry-red nail polish. Thought that hunk of driftwood needed a spot of color!”

“Ma, that would be a lot more convincing if you hadn't said the same thing last week. And Stan hadn't buried your whole supply of nail polish just in case.”

“Honey...”

“Forget it, I'm not coming out.”

“Fine.”

A pause.

“Could you at least tell me where he buried –”

“No!”

 

Stan was next. He banged on the door.

“Open up or I'll pick the lock!”

“Feel free. I'm using magnets to hold the door shut.”

“Psh. I'll just spray water at 'em.”

“Water doesn't deactivate magnets, Stan.”

“Sure it does!”

“No, that would take – ohhh, no you don't.”

“C'mooon, I left my deodorant in there! Do you know how smelly I'm gonna get?”

“As smelly as usual, since you never wear it.”

“I do too wear it!”

“Stanley, please, go away.”

 

Ford had been sitting at his desk for a few hours now, writing an article on how he had solved Fermat's Last Theorem. He already had a few scholastic journals in mind where he could submit it for publication. _Scientific Minds_ was the most likely to publish it. _IQ Icons_ and _Great Minds_ would be the next ones on his list. There were even a couple if articles from _Great Minds_ he was directly referencing in the article he was writing. His near-perfect memory allowed him to quote and cite the article without needing to reference it. Which was certainly of benefit, especially now that he no longer had –

His hand shook so badly the pencil slipped out of his fingers and hit the ground.

He took several deep breaths, eyes closed. He could practically hear Crampelter's jabs about his twelve butterfingers, his father barking at him to get his head out of his books and man up.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

He picked up his pencil, slowly, and kept writing. It was hard to ignore the stinging in his eyes, the way it was suddenly hard to swallow.

 

Something screeched outside Ford's door. He glanced up to make sure they hadn't looped wire around the hinges of the bedroom door to saw it off. Not that he thought Ma would vandalize her own house, but Stan definitely would.

The door was fine. He returned to his work.

The screeching came again. And he heard the unmistakable sound of...giggles?

Ford looked up again, frowning. It sounded like Ma and Stan. What were they doing out there, setting up a booby trap? No, that would ensure stayed in his room, not leave it.

He could hear Stan guffawing and his mother shushing him. More dragging, then the sounds moved down the hall. They hadn't so much as knocked on his door.

Well, good. He was nearly finished with his article anyway and didn't want any distractions. If they'd found something else to focus on, so much the better for him.

More thumping. Then an actual peal of laughter.

What on earth were they doing?

Ford went to the door and listened, but it was just as muffled as it had been from his desk. He paused, debating. Then he pressed a button on the side of the magnets and opened the door.

“Hello?”

There was no answer.

He moved cautiously, checking the other bedroom and the upstairs bathroom and even the closet. But of course they weren't there. Everything looked pretty normal, although the beams they'd been using to prop up the closet ceiling were gone. It was already starting to sag; they hadn't had the money to fix the water damage last year.

He went downstairs.

“Ma? Stanley?”

He checked the kitchen and the living room, but both were empty. Then he realized the sounds were coming from the Pawn Shop.

He stopped outside the connecting door. He could hear their muffled voices. Stan sounded the way he did when he was about to pull off a seriously good prank, and Ma was about to rake in the cash from a gullible client. He couldn't hear his father's voice, but then again, his father was less than talkative. Maybe Filbrick wasn't in there. Maybe he was.

Ford's stomach was starting to bother him. He turned to go back upstairs.

_CRASH!_

“OW!”

Ford rushed through the door. “Ma! Stan! Are you – are...what are you _doing?_ ”

They'd dragged Ma's Crystal Ball booth into the Pawn Shop, along with beams from the upstairs closet. The long wood planks were now leaned against the top of the booth and covered in pink- and purple-spotted cloth, creating the effect of a very large, very garish tent. The whole thing scraped the ceiling and almost completely filled the shop floor. The tent's entrance was even pushed right up against the shop door, so anyone stepping into the shop would walk immediately into the booth.

Ma was sitting on the floor, a purple shawl draped over her shoulders, a spare beam on the ground next to her.

Stan poked his head out from under the tent and grinned. “Like it? I stole the curtains outta Ms. Wright's house down the block! A few splotches of paint and they look all weird and mysterious and completely unrecognizable to a prior owner!”

Ma rose elegantly to her feet and sashayed over to Ford, spreading her arms. The shawl made her look almost regal.

“Like it, sweetheart? Gotta look the part! Today we're puttin' on a Psychic Special!”

“What, _here?_ ” He stared at them, then at the tent. “But – what about Pop?”

Ma snorted. “Out running a few errands for me.”

“During shop hours?”

“A woman can be very persuasive.”

“Yeah!” Stan grinned and started wiggling out from under the tent. “You shoulda seen 'er, Sixer, it was hilarious! She scared him so bad Pops looked like he'd –”

“Watch it!”

Ford leaped forward and shoved at the side of the booth before it could topple over. Stan shouted and scrambled back into the tent. Ma rushed to help and the two of them managed to stabilize it just as Stan squeezed between the front of the tent and the Pawn Shop windows.

“I thought we finally got it to hold still,” Ma grumbled.

Ford lifted the cloth around the booth and checked underneath. “Ma, you know the wheels of this booth are uneven, right? On a boardwalk we can usually find boards that provide sufficient lift to the back right one so it's stable, but here you'll need to put something underneath the wheel. And wedge-shaped stoppers won't work very well on wheels that swivel; you'll need something like cement blocks to immobilize them completely.”

“I can grab some offa Smither's back wall,” Stan offered.

“Fine.” Ford stood up.

“Wait!” Ma grabbed him as he started to move.

“Ma, you've already got Stanley to help. I really don't want to be here when Pop –”

“No, no, watch your footing! You almost stepped on those and I barely got 'em rigged the way I wanted.” She pointed to a series of wires taped to the floor. They led straight up the top of the tent and inside. Three of the wires had no rubber seal and were throwing sparks.

“ _Ma!_ You can't use wires like that, you're gonna burn the house down!”

“A little extra fireworks will just add to the spooky effects!”

“Not like that! Here –”

He squatted down, unplugged the wires from the wall and began untangling them. Ma handed him a few extra wires from one of the Pawn Shop's shelves and he quickly replaced them, tossing the old wires and then taping down the new ones so no one would trip over them. By the time he was done, Stanley had left and come back with four cinderblocks, a few small white pipes, and a disco ball.

“For ambiance!” he said, holding up the ball.

Ford eyed him. “Do I even want to know where you got –”

“Nope!”

Obviously the disco ball would have the most effect inside the booth, so Stan drilled a hole in a bottom corner of the booth and Ford threaded the wires through. Then he took a few of the plastic pipes Stan had brought, drizzled them in white-dry superglue, and rigged them with the wires and a few lightbulbs so they looked like flickering candles. They placed them around the tiny table and chairs inside, and Stan hooked up the disco ball directly above the table. Ma covered it with a sheer pink veil and set her Crystal Ball on the table as the centerpiece. When Ford turned on the candles, it created a mysterious, yet oddly soothing dappled effect, which set off the crystal ball so perfectly it almost looked like it was glowing.

Ma stepped over and polished it with the end of her shawl. “Hey, you think we could get this baby to float? That would really freak out my customers! I'd have them paying through the nose just to keep me from cursing them!”

Stan laughed.

“Sure, Ma, I...” His voice trailed off. It had just occurred to him what he was doing. Wasn't this exactly what had gotten him in trouble in the first place? Did he want to find out what else would be taken away?

“I should go.” He stood up. His chest felt unbearably heavy. 

Ma squinted at him. “I know that look, Stanford Pines, don't you start thinking what I think you're thinking. You just said you could make me float and I expect to float.”

Stan snorted. “Just do it, Sixer, you know she'll wear you down sooner or later.”

“No, I can't, I have homework.”

“Thought you finished it all.”

Ma suddenly reached out and rapped Ford hard on the head. 

“Ow!”

“Didn't think it was hollow,” she said with satisfaction. “Filbrick lives in this house, Stanford, but he certainly doesn't live in your head, so don't give him the space. Now you have a brain and I am expecting brain things to happen so that I can float and rake in enough money to buy my own beauty salon, capiche?”

"I..." 

Stan caught his eye and gave him a Look, which very clearly said: _We like you just the way you are._

“...could use the magnets I have upstairs," Ford said slowly, rubbing his head. "Actually, Ma, if you want I could get _you_ to float.”

“Oooh, yes! Can we rig a fan for extra-spooky effects? And lights!”

“Sure! Stan, help me with the chair.” They moved around her to the opposite side of the table and Ford crouched, checking the floor. “Yep, here's the loose board. And the chair's bottom looks wide enough. Let me run upstairs and grab a couple –”

“What are you _doing?!_ ”

Ford's head snapped up.

Filbrick filled the doorway. He had bags under each arm. After being in the tent for so long, the sunlight behind him scorched Ford's retinas, turning his father into a hulking shadow. Ford's heart pounded. Blood roared in his ears. His hands shook. Stan was holding perfectly still next to him. He was glaring bloody murder at their father, but neither brother said a word.

Ma just leaned against the table with one arm and grinned. “Perfect timing! How do you like it?”

“What did those boys –”

“Filbrick, _dear_.” Ma's tone was sweet as iced poison. She stepped towards him. “I thought we'd do a little Psychic Special in the Pawn Shop today. Complete with the tent and a few extra-special effects. And if you have any objection to that, Fil, you know exactly where you'll be sleeping for the next three months. I'm almost hoping you forgot to fix the faucet in the bathtub.”

For a second nobody moved. The pressure in the air was like a coiled spring. Ma and Pop stared each other down, trading fire.

Then Pop dropped the bags and they hit the floor so suddenly that Ford jumped and nearly fell over. Stan grabbed him. Their father turned and stalked out of the shop, muttering furiously about having to use the employee's entrance to get into his own business.

Ma shook her head at the bags. “Men and their little victories,” she sniffed, then glanced back at Ford. “Well? The magnets?”

He looked at her blankly. “Magnets?”

“Yes, Stanford, magnets! So that I can charge customers for checking above my head for strings and then scare them with my spooky witch powers!”

Stan burst out laughing. All the tension drained out of Ford and he laughed, too, much harder than the joke warranted.

“Don't laugh yet, you two.” Ma grinned, reached into one of the bags and held up a slippery-looking purple cloth. “Every witch needs a few good servants!”

Stan groaned. “Oh, Ma!”

“Don't you 'Oh, Ma' me! Busted ribs don't prevent you from getting dressed! Now throw this on and Ford I'd better see some magnets under my butt pronto! Move it, people, we got clients to fleece!”

They moved. Ford didn't even have time to think about their father, scowling behind his counter at the back of the tent. Ma had him running up and down the stairs getting everything he needed to make the table, chair, and ball float with the merest push of a button. Stan changed into a costume very similar to Ma's, except that while it made her look like a vision of shimmering lavender that floated in her wake, it turned him into a very soggy bird.

“Don't you even,” Stan threatened, when Ford saw it. He had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

Ma sewed an extra and almost-invisible flap of cloth at the back of the tent, so Ford could scrunch up and hide while he operated the magnets. When the shop opened at 9, Stan stood on the sidewalk, shouting compliments and insults at people until they entered the shop-slash-tent. At that point Ford lit the electric candles, so realistic they actually flickered, and Ma gave the best performance Ford had ever seen, telling the most outrageous prophecies in a spooky voice that actually gave him goosebumps. When she gave the cue for him to activate the magnets, every single customer was just about ready to wet their pants. Or at the very least empty them of all the cash they had in their pockets.

Filbrick, for his part, didn't say a word, reduced to fuming silently at the back of the tent. For once, Ford didn't even give him a passing thought. 

Especially after Ma and Stan stuffed fifty dollars into Ford's hands at the end of the day. For books.

**Author's Note:**

> Stan, of course, immediately demanded 60 dollars - the extra ten being emotional compensation for wearing the soggy bird costume.
> 
> Honestly the best part of this fic was imagining the tent RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PAWN SHOP SO IT'S IN FILBRICK’S FACE ALL DAY. (“Teach HIM to take my baby's books!” - Ma)


End file.
